Page 36 of A Scandalous Kind of Duke

Leo let his head thump back against the big, solid cabinet. A hard lump of oak dug into his skull. Perhaps it would knock some sense into him. He breathed, once, twice, three times, studying the fall of the curtains, the play of shadow and light.

Here he was, stewing in a fugue of desire, ready to tup her senseless, and she— She was making jokes.

Thank heavens he had not acted on that desire. Better he escape her presence, and soon; the fugue still hazed his brain.

And yet still he had not spoken. He had yet to explain Lady Renshaw’s ultimatum and that he must sever their connection in order to marry his nearly-ideal bride.

Perhaps she would make jokes about that too.

Ah, sod it. London would be abuzz with the news once his engagement was announced. She’d put the pieces together, if he never called on her again. She needed nothing more from him.

“Leo? Are you coming out? Or did you so enjoy our hiding spot you’re nesting there permanently?”

Huffing and grimacing, he extracted the key from a pocket. He walked straight past her and unlocked the door.

“You go first,” he said. “I’ll follow.”

He watched her cross the long drawing room, with that unrestrained sway of her hips, watching her all the way until she reached the next door and, without a backward look, she was gone.

CHAPTER11

Leo’s pace faltered as he returned to the garden. The party continued, but everything seemed at a remove, as if viewed through a glass.

Desire, he thought, dulling his brain like opium smoke. St. Blaise was right: Thwarted lust did mess with a man’s mind.

Mercifully, she was nowhere to be seen. He cast around the garden for something—anything—to distract him. Salvation took the form of an elderly gentleman, who was sitting alone at a wrought iron table, fidgeting with a teacup.

Lord Renshaw. Here for a mistaken appointment with Prescott. Miss Susannah Macey’s grandfather, and her guardian while her father was abroad.

There was Leo’s solution.

The haze faded. Clarity sparkled in his brain. He headed for Renshaw with a purposeful stride.

As he walked, he renewed his vow: He would not jeopardize his future. He would secure his marriage and his Foundation and his heirs. He would do things right this time. He would not let himself be distracted by Juno Bell’s smile or body or verve.

Whatever it took, he reminded himself. Whatever it took.

* * *

The Earl of Renshawhad been a so-called macaroni in his youth, devoted to the flamboyant wigs, cosmetics, and fashions of the time. Despite the new plainness of men’s fashion, Renshaw still delighted in lavish lace at his cuffs, and frequently touched his bald pate with regret.

He was patting his head now and jiggling one knee as he sipped his tea. His harried expression cleared as Leo approached.

“You’re here too, Dammerton. Jolly good. Yes. Bit of a surprise.” Renshaw’s perplexed gaze lingered on the living Shakespearean tableau. “Bit of a surprise,” he repeated. “Yes.”

“Ladies always try to outdo themselves at such events,” Leo said. “Not your usual thing, I suppose.”

“Not… No. I didn’t know.” He shook his head. “Came to see Prescott about some Roman painting he’s acquiring, didn’t know there was a thing. Said I got the dates muddled. Or the time. My diary…” He patted one coat pocket, sighed. “Maybe Prescott forgot.”

The old man’s confusion made Leo uneasy, as did the thought of Prescott whisking him away. Not to mention the risk of encountering Juno again.

“Fancy a turn around the garden?” he asked Renshaw, who agreed happily enough, and they strolled down a shady path covered with wisteria vines, whose plump purple blooms hung about them like grapes.

“Here is the matter,” Leo said. “I would like your permission to court your granddaughter.”

“Well.” Renshaw stopped walking and turned to face Leo. He steepled his fingers. “Well.”

Leo clasped his hands behind his back. “I believe Miss Macey would welcome my suit, but Lady Renshaw has made it plain she does not approve. Let us discuss your objections.”

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